


Alms For The Sick

by orphan_account



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Uhm, all of these characters are in game lol these boys SUFFER, and bc there was some really!! cute art of leper and highwayman, and wanted 2 do something w/ them, but theres gonna be some of that good old hurt and comfort, i wrote this bc i adore the leper and his afflicted lines, ill?? update the tags as it goes bc there IS going 2 be some graphic violence, its darkest dungeon lol thats to be expected, no smut bc one of them is a leper lol, okay so, renyauld and dismas show up but theyre in the background, the pov changes from chapter to chaptr, the tags will be updated as I go, theres going 2 be some background renyauld and dismas being dude bros, this is full of ugly boys from my game and i love them all, this is going 2 b abt a dumb highwayman and his leper boy trying to survive in the hamlet, this is my first time posting fanfic so lol, ufkc this is weird ive never done this before
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 12:32:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10536549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Holland came from a hard life. The same sob story as every other brigand that you found on the road, a tale of a horrid family and harsh conditions. Adversity and misfortune were par for the course in his line of business, in whatever form. To be a highwayman was to leave behind sensibilities (bloody money did you no good if you were too busy retching in the road). When Holland heard of the call for adventurers from the distant and unknown Emmerich Estate and answered, it was a last act of sorts. He didn't expect to survive, especially after hearing from the pallid, sickly folk of the town what lied in wait for his kind. But, several months later, he's still kicking and more knowledgeable in the hardships of life. Life was awful, but less so with company. And what striking company it was! Occultists and jesters, crusaders and bounty hunters, there was no lack of interesting characters in the hamlet. He carved out his own corner in the barracks, forged his own friendships, was as happy as could be when working in such a line of work.Then, the leper caught his eye. A man with true understanding of adversity, who still kept a noble air when his very body was rotting away. A match clearly made in heaven.





	

**Author's Note:**

> alms for the sick more like alms for the sUCC amiright reigerjsdfghgnol- xoxogossipgurl  
> Holland- Highwayman  
> Mortemer- Leper  
> Audrey- Grave robber  
> Barristan- Man-At-Arms  
> Pippery and Boisivon- Houndmasters  
> also fun fact i got REALLY fuckin anxious posting this wow idk how yall post fic all the time this is a weird process

The hamlet was anything but a happy place. Fetid disease festered in those bleak buildings and bleaker minds, sparing nothing. No matter where you chose to spend your time off of a team, you would be met with reminders of what you so desperately wanted to forget. The church with it’s pale faced holy men and women, the oppressive silence brought on by prayer and meditation interrupted by the occasional piercing cry from the penance hall. The bar, piss watery beer and all, was hardly a step up. You would trade off the silence for almost deafening din and the risk of having some poor sod end up vomiting on your shoes. Besides the few overworked whores, the only ones looking to bed down were fellow adventurers. Nights always ended up messy like that, be it because you started to talk about serious matters or someone acted out of turn and provoked the other. Gambling was right out of the question if drink was involved, the Heiress had made that _very_ clear after a ring bearing the Emmerich family crest had been lost in a bet to the Caretaker, that wicked hag of a man.  


The logical conclusion that many adventurers had reached in the end was, if the outside world was no good for when they were trying to rest, the barracks were the best place to be. And, for a bit in the beginning, it actually worked. They were left to their own devices, whatever they may be, and kept to themselves. Discussion was a doorway to disturbance of the mind, which in turn was an invitation to the sanitarium. Nobody wanted to go there.  


But then, their ranks grew. The more who holed up in the barracks, the more likely it was that something harmless ( _An innocent comment, the too loud clank of a blade being set down, even the scent of burnt pork was enough for some of them_ ) would set at least one of their ranks off, quickly turning into a drastic chain reaction.  
Which was why Holland had abandoned the barracks, instead taking his place amongst the peace of the graveyard. There was a small, sick comfort in knowing that he had outlived these unfortunate souls. Beside him, freshly upturned dirt. A new grave for a new plague doctor. Panicked when faced with the sight of the poor excuse for life in the Weald and tried to run. Ended up running straight into one of those vile giants; when the rest had caught up to her there was nothing but a reddish pulp, punctuated with shattered bone and shredded cloth.  


The pathetic attempt at a funeral had been hard to stand for. Last rights read off by the Heiress’s pet crusader, his ever present companion shoveling dirt into the hole along with Audrey. None of the late doctor’s team, Holland included, had anything to say. She was a newcomer, insignificant in the grand scheme of things.  


Now, her shallow grave was a landmark of sorts for the highwayman. Nobody in the right mind would think to go to the graveyard of all places if they didn’t have to. The reminder of their own mortality scared them. The only fellow Holland could think of that he would have to shoo off would be Audrey, that scrawny wench of a thief. No, there would be no grave robbing this day. The day was peaceful and blessedly quiet this far away from the hubbub of the bar and training grounds that Holland could put up his feet and not have to worry about anything. Just him, the graves of people killed in his new line of work, and his thoughts.  


He had never said he wasn’t even just a tad morbid.  


Life, in its charming quintessential way, continued on outside of the horror he worked through. He could hear birds chirp and sing amongst the trees, see the clouds slowly shift across the sky, feel the wind’s gentle kiss upon his cheek. It was grounding. There _was_ existence outside of the eldritch incomprehensible horrors he dealt with on at least a monthly basis. Somewhere out there, there were people who didn’t have to worry about who would snap or be buried next. He envied them without a doubt, but he was dedicated now. No backing out of this unless the Heiress herself deemed you unfit ( _Which would never happen while you were sound enough of mind or healthy enough to live out a healthy life in the aftermath of this upheaval_ ).  


So, Holland closed his eyes. It was the closest he could get to not being in the forsaken hamlet after all, and even if he couldn’t see nature he could hear it. Rustle of leaves above, probably caused by the wind. Distant yapping of a hound from the training grounds- Was that Pippery’s or Boisivon’s? Deeper timber than the typical bark, which meant Pippery’s loyal Justice. He smiled at the thought of the beast. Good and reliable, just like her master.  


Now, metal clanging. Barristan, that old warhound, spent every possible waking hour stalking those grounds it felt like. Despite the mace and shield he wielded, he had shouted instruction and criticism aplenty at Holland on the rare day he would stop by for a round of practice with his flintlock. While he didn’t have the pleasure of being on a team with the soldier much, he could respect the work he put into this dirty job. The team was all that mattered to Barristan and he did all he could to prepare fellow adventurers beforehand and aid them during missions. A good man, far better than Holland.  


The chorus of practice resuming after a short break for more instruction, hound abarking and cludgel crashing. Pippery would benefit from the practice. A small rumble from above accompanied by the shuddering of the nearest tree. An approaching storm? While Holland could still boast about having the greatest eyes of the land, the same couldn’t be said for his ears. Too much time shooting and getting shot at, he always said. It paid to be able to work past handicaps however, so he kept his eyes closed and his ears open. More birds, cheerful little buggers. The distant ringing of the church’s bell. A faint crunch of grass, barely noticeable. An appreciative cry from Barristan-  


_Footstep!_ Holland’s eyes flew open as he drew his flintlock as easy as breathing, pointing it steady at the leper who froze before him, hands half raised in submission. The two stayed like that for an uncomfortable moment as his mind tried to catch up with his instincts. Leper in front of him. Not a brigand. Not a monstrous nightmare. Carefully, the gun was lowered.  


“Ah- Hello?”  


Holland did know who the man was, but hardly. What was his name again? Montague? Mallas? Something that started with an M, he was sure of it. The leper didn’t make a single move and Holland started to get nervous. _What was it?_ Mallory? No no, that was the damn grave robber who had died when she was impaled by one of the swine folk. Come on, it was on the tip of his tongue, he was getting stared at with what he hoped was nothing more than an expectant gaze- it was hard to tell with that damn _mask_

__

“Dark times, when man seeks solace amongst the corpses.” Holland blinked at the man’s sudden statement ( _Observation?_ ), watching as he lowered his hands fully and approached closer. He could smell him, the highwayman realized with disgust, all sickly rot and coppery undertones. Those bandages didn’t look fresh at all, and there was a gouge through his chest piece that was _just_ deep enough to break through. Without any ceremony the leper kneeled down besides Holland, hardly barred teeth the only sign of discomfort.  


“You alright there buddy? Yer looking a little sick...” He paused helplessly for a moment, realizing he had said that to a damn _leper_ , “A lil’ out of it. Probably ‘ought to get down to the sanatorium.” He didn’t envy the other.  


The leper made an odd huffing sound ( _Holy Flame don’t let that be his lungs giving out oh please_ ) as he managed a small smile. “I’ve lived this long. A moment of respite will do me no harm,” A shrug, “It is well deserved, after the latest venture.”  


It took an embarrassingly long time for him to put together what that meant, the leper shifting into a more comfortable position during it. “You’re from the latest team? Bloody hell- What are you doing here?! You got t’ report to the Heiress or she’ll ‘ave you skinned! And you’re hurt too! Up, up! Don’t waste time like this-”  


“I’m diseased, not deranged.” He made the huffing sound again, waving away Holland’s hands with one of his own. “Rest easy. I won’t meet my end at the hands of her own, I just wished for a moment of peace amongst the storm.” Holland felt like he was sitting next to a living poetry book.  


“Uh- Alright then. Make yerself at home, I’m not really doin’ anything. Although,” The highwayman gave the leper a thorough look down, the first real chance to do so “I’m gonna need a name.” He towered over the other even when kneeling down, carrying himself with a queer calm grace and a straight back. It was obvious he was no stranger to combat with his battered armor, and Holland wondered at his past. Who was he before he put on that red hood and golden mask? He wouldn’t be surprised if it was someone of high class, commoner’s couldn’t afford to be the learned sort. And with the stuff he heard the leper spout in hardly any time of knowing him, Holland was positive the man was literate and well versed in poetry.  


“Mortemer. A pleasure to meet you.” One gloved hand was held out. Holland stared down at it for a moment, wondering how contagious leprosy was. But- He didn’t want to be rude, so he took it in his own and flashed a grin. “No no, th’ pleasure’s all mine. The name’s Holland.”  
It felt better between the two of them now, more comfortable. Holland gave the leper, who seemed to be settled down for the long run, one more glance before closing his eyes again.  


Everything was the same as it was before. Distant sounds of training and what was surely a building storm. Probably wouldn’t be wise to head out in the evening, which meant he would be trapped in the barracks, with everyone else. Maybe Audrey would be in for the night, instead of who knows where she always ran off to. That would be nice. He took in a deep breath, trying to get back to the state he was in before- peace and quiet.  
It was hard, though, with the added presence of the leper. Holland could hear him breath evenly, occasionally shifting his position and letting out a barely audible groan. He _had_ to be in a considerable amount of pain, with the soreness inherent to a mission and any injuries that he might’ve gotten. He peeked at the leper, noting the familiar position. Meditative. He had seen others adopt it while on missions, trying to keep their minds in what little moments of calm they had. But the fidgeting that happened every few minutes hinted at turmoil and distraction.  


It would be rude to send Mortemer off so soon, after he had made the trek up to the graveyard to the first place for nothing more than little rest. It was either Holland stayed there and had the constant faint anxiety that came from having eyes closed around another, or he left and went to see what Barristan was doing at the training grounds this particular day. One more small shuffle of movement and a sharp intake of breath was what drove Holland to practically leaping to his feet, forcing himself to smile. “Well, I’d love t’ stay here longer, but I’m required elsewhere. Got to run, you know? See you ‘round and all that, make sure t’ get in before long!” He clapped his hands together, waiting for the leper to look up, startled at the sudden sound, before turning tail and walking as fast as he could. The leper made him nervous when he was watching him with that damn _mask_ , Holland didn’t like being able to see a man’s eyes.  


“Ah, farewell-” Holland waved quickly over his shoulder and tuned him out, not bothering to look back. Audrey had better be in tonight, she was always good for a card game and some distraction. He didn't want to think about the strange leper who took time to visit the dead before being treated and fidgeted about almost constantly and wore that damn _mask_. He had seen enough masks to last him a life time, had lived on the run enough to truly appreciate the importance of being able to see one's face and expression. No matter how rotted and fettid, Mortemer’s face would be the better alternative. Not that Holland planned on interacting with him anymore than absolutely necessary. It was a big hamlet after all, what were the chances of them running into one another again?

**Author's Note:**

> wowo im really excited to keep working on this its gonna be GOOD ive got a lot planned for this  
> also fun fact out of the six currently named boys in this fic half of them are already dead i just invested a lot into them and got really attached lol  
> boisivons dog is named knight and the two houndmasters get together to talk about their dogs and the best way to make dog biscuits,, i refuse to believe that the houndmaster does anything less than cook for his dog hes a loving good pet owner  
> coming up next: holland talks to some boys and audrey makes an appearance


End file.
